Eyes of the Beholder - Of Gods & Ascension
by VintageTorquoise
Summary: Long ago, the Alterans ascended and left their galaxy to the Ori. But in the process of subjugating that galaxy, events arise that lead to the creation of a new race of ascendants - and the involvement of other unforeseen shadows. *see chapter one for a list of crossovers*
1. Chapter 1: Ascension

**Author's Note**: This entry will focus primarily on 'god-like' entities seen in several familiar stories. I realize more hardcore sci-fi fans tend to dislike them, but I find fantasy worth writing too. This is an anthology (one of several I plan to write) that uses numerous continuities (universes/settings). It ties together with all my other stories on this site.

Chronologically, this story begins a few centuries after the ascension of the Alterans. Bear in mind the scenes in this entry are meant to 'set the stage' for future stories, not be self-contained. In that same vein, I could've used these as 'flashbacks' for new stories, but I'd rather have it all set up ahead of time. They're all interlinked in ways not immediately apparent, but I apologize if it's somewhat confusing at first.

If you can't read some of the words in this chapter, try viewing it with Firefox. I realized Google Chrome didn't render them correctly.

I decided to merge the original five chapters into two to make room for a new series of scenes or short stories. I've also changed this from being a predominantly Star Trek/Stargate crossover to a Misc/X-over fic in order to allow for more crossovers without a specific focus. I still plan on eventually making a decent Trek/Gate story though.

**Crossovers include**: Stargate SG-1/Atlantis, Star Trek TNG/DS9/VOY, Andromeda, Myst/Riven, Hyrule Total War (LoZ), Mass Effect, Independence Day, Command &amp; Conquer (Tiberium universe)

* * *

**-= 48 million years ago, in the Ori Home Galaxy =-**

"Where are they?"

A non-corporeal entity composed of what many would consider fire stood in the center of a large, open room with a massive window looking out into the stars beyond. It was clearly annoyed, either at the limitations of the star-borne ship she now stood within, or at the fact that she was almost the last of her kind to be left aboard one.

The Alterans had ascended no more than a few centuries ago, and after the Ancients left, the Ori spread across the galaxy in vast waves. When many younger species began to worship them, the Ori found they were empowered by this praise. In reality, this effect was caused by the will contained within each soul (or 'quantum signature', as it became designated among the scientifically advanced species). This was why the Anunnaki of the Milky Way would attempt to force humanity to believe in the protection of their world against the sun's eruption; yet, force of belief ignores the will of the user, and is thereby useless this way.

Thus, the Ori began to destroy species who refused to submit. Building off of technology discovered on other worlds, as well as the Alterans' own advances, the Ori sent forth hordes of ships that could level entire planets in minutes when used in force. Some of those species attacked survived in small numbers, and those refugees scattered throughout the galaxy.

Some, such as the people of a certain middle-aged scientist, tried to construct weapons of their own to fight back. Others, however, sought ways to leave their galaxy. It was one of the latter that the Ori now had the most difficult task of locating. They couldn't let the non-believers escape, for if they chose to return in greater numbers, the Ori might have to fight a costly war. That they couldn't allow.

"Manea," spoke a disembodied voice to the Ori now searching the edge of the galaxy for the survivors of a doomed world. "Tell us, have you found the Travelers?"

"No," was Manea's irked response. "Their ship disappeared from sensor range an hour ago, and I've not been able to sense them."

"They have technology that prevents us from finding them with our minds." The voice was clearly unhappy, but a hint of respect could be heard as a subtle undertone. "No other species has accomplished such a feat."

"I know that." Manea's eyes scanned the dark expanse. "They must have also found a way to hide from our ship's sensors..."

"On the contrary." When the voice began to point out something Manea wasn't aware of, the Ori turned away from the viewing port and crossed her arms, waiting to hear the voice's explanation. "You are getting closer to the galactic barrier. It can cause severe sensor distortions. All galaxies have one as a preventative measure."

Manea narrowed her eyes, though she looked at no particular spot in the process. "To prevent what?"

"We've yet to learn that much, Manea." That answer led Manea to grit her incorporeal teeth in frustration. Telling their worshipers that the Ori are all-knowing was easy enough; but actually knowing everything was a different matter altogether, even for beings at their stage of evolution. "Use caution when approaching the barrier. Prevent the Travelers from escaping through it at all costs."

"I would appreciate some idea of where they could go." Manea frowned as she turned back to look out at the stars. "How will they pass through the barrier?"

For a moment, the voice didn't respond. Then it returned with a confident answer. "There is a slipstream path that begins near the border. A few parts of it branch out into nearby galaxies, but most end in the void between them. Should these Travelers be able to navigate the passage, they can escape to another galaxy. Go there now, and 'pray' you aren't too late." The voice finished its transmission with one final, threatening tone. "Stop them before they reach the passage. Do not fail us."

Manea merely watched the stars go by without a single reaction. Now wasn't the time to argue. After ordering the prior to set course for the passage, which she could sense far more clearly than anything else near the rift, Manea released the form she was maintaining so she could float about as pure energy - a way to 'rest' before her final assignment.

* * *

Several hours later, the Ori warship jumped out of hyperspace near the coordinates Manea had provided. As the behemoth flew into range of the unseen slipstream path, which hovered not far from the fluctuating blue and white energy that composed the galactic barrier, the prior spotted a large convoy of smaller ships heading towards it. Upon verifying that the ships were the ones that escaped Haven, the planet upon which the Travelers lived, the prior immediately notified Manea.

"I see them," Manea stated coldly as she stood in her open chamber, staring out at the small fleet of ships. "Destroy them."

Before the prior could even give the command to engage the refugees, he sensed something from one of the Traveler ships. "They are hailing."

Though Manea was about to order the prior to simply ignore it, she considered the possibility of it being a surrender. Surely the Ori could use more worshipers, and the Traveler technology was far too advanced to be destroyed. Seeing this as an opportunity, Manea ordered, "Let them speak."

The unspoiled view of space Manea had been looking out of earlier was soon replaced by a face - that of the Traveler himself, along with the rest of his kind working on consoles in the background. "Ori warship," his message began in earnest. The Traveler's expression showed concern, and his voice betrayed a sense of urgency. "Break off your attack! Do not follow us through the slipstream passage!"

Now Manea frowned. So it hadn't been an offer of surrender after all. "Afraid we'll destroy the last of your kind, Traveler?" Manea spoke with clearly hostile intent, angered by the stubbornness of this species. "Surrender, and you will all be spared."

"I'm afraid we can't do that." The Traveler's voice, despite showing some concern, was otherwise very calm and collected - most interesting given the precarious situation the Travelers now found themselves in. "If you attempt to follow us through the slipstream, you will either be destroyed or lost in the void. Do not attempt to follow us. I repeat, do not-"

Manea cut the transmission with a wave of her arm. She then glared at the ships that were getting ever closer to the slippoint. "Destroy them."

As if responding directly to her command, the Ori warship promptly launched itself forward and began charging the primary beam weapon. Just as it began to swoop in over the fleet, the first of the Travelers' ships entered the slipstream point. But the ones in the middle weren't so lucky. The Ori ship's beam weapon shot straight through two of the ships, and it was able to fire a second volley that destroyed three more before it passed overhead.

"Get the rest of the ships through! We'll hold them off!" That was the command issued by the Traveler in charge of the fleet to the second-in-command, who managed another ship. As soon as he'd gave that order, the fleet admiral's ship broke off from the rest and charged at the Ori warship. Though much smaller and far outclassed, it still fought valiantly to save the rest of the fleet.

But Manea wasn't one who could be dissuaded from completing a mission that easily. Instead of engaging the small ship, it began to fly right past it, eyes on the goal.

"You're not getting away that easily..." The Traveler admiral shouted his next order at the pilot: "Take us in! Ram their port engine core!" He gave the Ori ship on the viewscreen a stern look. "Our people will be free..."

Just as Manea thought she had succeeded in bypassing the troublesome little gnat, she heard an explosion and felt the ship rumble momentarily. Though it did nothing to throw her immaterial form off-balance, it confused her until the prior's voice spoke through the intercom. "They've damaged the engines."

"Keep following them!" Manea practically yelled the order. The prior was quick to oblige as always, and he directed the ship to continue forward. Another lash of the Ori beam took out two more, but nearly seven others began to enter the slippoint.

"They are entering the slipstream. We cannot-"

"I said follow them!" At Manea's enraged order, the prior acquiesced and led the ship into the slipstream mere moments behind the last of the Travelers' ships.

Though no Ori had entered this alternate dimension before, Manea didn't care. All that mattered was the recovery of the Travelers and the satisfaction that comes from an Ori contributing to its own kind. But as the ship found itself engulfed by the strings of gigantic, writhing monstrous tendrils that could be rode from one part of the universe to another, Manea somehow knew this wasn't going to end with her victory.

The ship traversed along one of the strings just behind the Travelers, but it didn't take long for it to come across an intersection. Here's where they failed. Manea's lack of confidence led to her decision being the wrong one - and they ended up arriving in the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we?" Manea demanded, but the prior was unable to answer. Though they were lucky enough to avoid destruction, neither Manea nor the prior were able to determine where each strand would take them. More importantly, the prior and all the soldiers on-board were now unconscious, and only Manea stood in the midst of that silent, darkened ship.

But that wasn't anything compared to what Manea now realized. She had lost contact with the other Ori. She was completely alone - stranded somewhere beyond the galactic rim. The thought terrified her to no end, and now she looked back and forth for an apparition of the Ori to tell her it was alright... that she was still safe and near the galaxy she'd just left.

Yet no such phantom appeared.

Backing away from the center of the room, where she now felt a strong sense of vulnerability, Manea panicked. What was she to do without the other Ori? All their power came from being unified in an ethereal link. Without it, she was nothing but one minor entity... completely incapable of protecting even herself should the time come.

"T͜he̢y liè...́"

A voice Manea had never heard before whispered into the room around her, its words echoed by the whispers of many others. Startled, she turned to face its source... then flew back into the corner of the room, not once averting her fearful gaze from what hovered before her.

It was a tall humanoid figure, composed of what could only be described as many ebony shards of glass, each continuously fluctuating in a manner that suggested they composed a single, incorporeal entity. Wide open eyes of glowing red stared dispassionately through Manea.

"The͝ ̶t͝rút͟h͡... i̕s à d̵éc͟e̵pt̴i͡o̸n.͝.͢.͘" The sinister shadow continued. "Y̢o͟u ̛do̡ n̸òt̢ ̴nee͜d̡ t͡he̢m.͠..̢ ͡th̢e̷y ̛li͢e..́. ͏tǫ ͏e͏a͏ch͟ ̵o̧t̴ḩȩr..."

Manea never spoke a word, but she didn't have to. She could sense the unusual being cutting into her mind. The moment she thought of a response, a sharp pain gripped her, and she instinctively jerked back, as though stabbed through the gut with a sword.

"T͞he ͝Ąby͜ss.̨..̴ ͟le̶t ̸i̵t l͘e͝ad y͜o͢u̡..̀." Manea recovered just enough to look back at the immaterial silhouette before her. "R͡e͏tur͟n... ̨ret̶ųr̶n ev̕ery͟t̛h͜i̵ng.͜.̷. t̛o ͢th̡e v̛o͞i͝d..."

"Return," Manea whispered as if she were under a hypnotic spell, though to her, it felt like everything was starting to make sense.

"Consum͘e̷..̵. c̨on͞sum̕e ̷ev͡er͘yt̢ḩi̴ng.͏.."

* * *

Omega - a single particle considered a source of infinite energy. The Anunnaki of another galaxy called it the 'adar', though nearly all species had a different name for it. Most were only able to construct minor ones; yet only a select few could stabilize them... and fewer still could create the ultimate omega itself. In its simplest form, it can power the technology of an entire planet; combined, these simple omega could even control life itself around a single planet or an entire sector of space consisting of hundreds of systems. But in its purest form, the ultimate accomplishment, it could control the very fabric of reality itself.

While the Arcturians casually created these particles for themselves, only the Anunnaki created one of similar universal power - and were able to contain it. No other managed the same, except for one: a minor civilization in the cosmos of another universe. These people were called the Gi'ni, later to be known as the Genii - by another called the ronay, whom they traded extensively with. Those ancient Genii relied on the ronay to provide them with a powerful magic (of a sort) called the Art, which helped spur their discovery of the fabled omega, and their successful attempt. However, though the particle was stabilized, it tore apart their entire universe save for a piece of land that remained hovering in the midst of nothing; the only survivors had fled through the linking books, artifacts capable of transporting living beings across universes, to this galaxy harboring the Ori... and an aging race that had suffered terribly under the aforementioned 'gods'.

"You want me to stop?" The man who spoke laughed. "Don't be absurd. We're on to the discovery of a lifetime. I won't let fear keep me from completing this project."

"Billions could die!" Another man shouted. Unlike the one he spoke to, this one appeared relatively older. After surviving the destruction of his home, he knew what the adar could do, and - more importantly - what it could become.

"Be silent! I have no interest in hearing your pitiful excuses!" With that said, the speaker began to ascend a set of metal stairs that would lead to the central chamber where the alpha and omega would soon be at hand.

"You don't understand! The Ori know about this! They made us create it in the first place, and we failed!"

The other man stopped mid-step halfway up the stairs and looked up, letting out an audible, melodramatic sigh. "Oh please," he said as he looked down at the one trying to scare him away from this auspicious occasion. "Your kind used nothing more than simple radios and tesla coils. You were still in the dark age compared to us. And then you came here, brought with you the knowledge of the ages, and you still believe we would make the same mistakes as you?"

"Listen to me, Quidel!"

"No, you listen to me!" Quidel shouted, pointing at the man who persisted in stopping him. He began descending the stairs, step by step, all the while speaking. "All my life, I've been forced to run. All my life, I've been forced to hide. My parents, my brothers, my sisters... they were all killed when the Ori arrived! Now I have the chance to stop them from killing billions more, and you want me to just sit here and let them get away with it?"

That was when Quidel's detractor grew quiet, watching calmly as Quidel glared daggers into him. "Then we will all die."

"I hope you're wrong, Kliment. Because I'm about to become more powerful than the Ori themselves." With that, Quidel turned and proceeded up the stairs to his destiny.

As he finished inputting the proper commands into the control panel, the building shook as the generators powered up. Quidel looked up at the massive, white dome above them. Then, closing his eyes and hoping beyond all else that Kliment was wrong, he pressed the button.

* * *

When Quidel opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a blinding light surrounding him. Everything was eerily silent. Though he looked, he couldn't spot Kliment or any of his scientists amid the harsh glow.

"What is this?" The scientist muttered aloud. "Where am I?"

"In a place where your spirit lingers," softly spoke what could only be described as a feminine voice.

"Lingers?" Quidel furrowed his brow as he squinted in a vain attempt to see the voice's origin. "What do you mean 'lingers'?"

Then a figure began to emerge, though Quidel could barely see it. It was a woman clothed in a white robe or dress, though her form flowed as though she was composed of ribbons, each so bright they made Quidel squint further. But no matter how her figure looked, her face remained unfazed, and her gaze set upon him.

"Who are you?"

"One who believes in truth."

"Truth?" Quidel's expression soon changed with his mood, which simmered from confusion to a spark of anger waiting to be set ablaze. "Are you an Ori?"

"No." Her answer did little to subdue Quidel's suspicions, but she continued anyway. "I'm the last of my kind."

"Kind? What kind?" Quidel took a step back, though it would've seemed more like stumbling with his lack of coordination. He tried to look around, but his vision couldn't pierce the light. "Where am I?"

"You're on the plane of ascension. I brought you here."

"Why?"

"To help me... to help all of your kind."

For a moment, Quidel didn't respond. He simply stood there trying to think of what he could say, or rather what he should say. But before he could compose a decent enough speech, he found himself interrupted by the other entity.

"I'm the avatar of your sun. I've followed your people to their new world, protecting them as best I can. But my powers... are limited."

Though Quidel wanted to ask how, the avatar explained. "With the rest of my kind gone, I cannot stand against the Ori alone. Your people I sent to this new world to meet the Genii who came from another cosmos. I wanted you there so that you would construct the device that ultimately created the omega."

"But why?" Quidel asked. "Why didn't you just tell us sooner? I would have constructed the device anyway!"

"Because," began the avatar. "You needed what the Genii had to provide. Data. The Art. All of it meant to coalesce around the omega."

"Then why is this omega so important to you? Can it really be used as a weapon against the Ori?"

"No." That answer made Quidel flinch. It was precisely the kind of answer he didn't want to hear. "The Ori will soon arrive and begin to fight over the omega unless I take it with me to another Age."

"Then why? Did you just use us? Is that why my family had to die?!"

"Your creation of the omega destroyed your world... but freed your hearts. Now you and all those that were present during the eruption are ascended, though only you have the soul to save them. Disperse your soul into their new minds and bodies, and you will find them all by your side. Your lives as ascendants begins now."

"But... but why..."

"Tell me," the entity began. "What is your name?"

"It's... it's..." Quidel found himself at a loss for words. No complete memories came to him; rather, only an incomplete picture was drawn in the recesses of his mind. "Q... Q-something. Look, what does that have to do with the omega?"

"From now on, you will be known as Q. Rally your forces with that name." Before Q could even respond, the avatar looked aside and said, "I've run out of time. You must join the others and prepare. The Ori are coming, and I must hide the omega away from them."

"But-"

With a quick and silent wave of its incorporeal arm, the avatar sent Q flying back into the eternal ether, his consciousness soon fading and mixing with the ether itself.

* * *

"Why? Why did you save me?" That question originated from the one named Kliment the day he awoke within the astral plane, rescued by Manea from the destruction caused by Quidel's attempt at creating the purest form of omega. "All I see are... are images... thoughts that aren't mine."

"That is because he is with you," the raging form of Manea approached Kliment from the side. The first Genii-turned-Q never turned to face her however, as his eyes were trapped in some kind of hypnotic gaze. "He was always there, since the day he sent me to your world."

"But... but how did he know... where we were?"

"I was the first to discover you." Manea spoke as she hovered behind the ascendant. "The first of you to arrive appeared on a planet called Ver Isca. You called him Tereus."

"Tereus... yes." Kliment's eyes widened in realization. "He disappeared soon after we arrived with the settlers."

"He revealed all I needed to know." Manea stopped in front of the Q and addressed him eye-to-eye. "I kept his secret safe. The Age you come from has yet to be discovered by any other Ori. He wants it that way."

Kliment swallowed a growing lump in his throat - no doubt an illusion caused by his mind's eye and its preference for corporeal form. However, there could be no mistake to Manea or any other Ori: Kliment felt afraid, just like Manea had the day she encountered the Spirit of the Abyss. Yet, in Kliment's case, he couldn't tell if that fear came from the intimidating figure of Manea, or the darkness creeping into his incorporeal veins.

"Can you feel him?" Manea approached, reaching out a hand to touch Kliment by the shoulder. "Can you feel the sorrow? The pain? A desire that wishes nothing more than to end this artificial existence? Our duty is to resolve this eternal nightmare by setting everything back. Before this universe was created."

"Before," Kliment repeated slowly, though the voice of the Abyss inside him didn't speak over his just yet. "Then this is about righting a wrong?"

Manea disappeared from Kliment's peripheral vision, but he knew she was still there, circling him like a hawk on its prey. "What is right about a universe that exists solely on sensation and appearances? What is wrong about an existence in the void that betrays no soul?"

"I..." Kliment struggled with that answer, but he felt it slither out from the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. Then, as the disembodied whispers echoed around him, he uttered: "I exist... for the void."

"Good," Manea chimed in, while the phantom voices continued to converse around them. "Now go. Lead your people through the galactic rim. Leave them to the Abyss, and he will send them to another galaxy... one where they may find the other Alterans that betrayed us. Then return here."

Manea smirked as the haunting spirits began to cackle almost sadistically. "We still have much to accomplish."

* * *

Soon after the preceding event, the celestial avatar that had spoken with Quidel stole away with the omega into the Age of Pegasi - home of the old Genii. Knowing full well that the Ori would soon pursue, it continued forward into the Age of Garternay, world of the mysterious ronay, then escaped from there into another.

The Spirit of the Abyss unleashed Kliment into the plane of ascension where the Q first gathered. Thus, Kliment would take on the name 'Q'... but he would later become the one named 'Quinn'.

Manea began putting the Abyss' commands into practice from the outset of the war. She had countless planets destroyed to feed the Spirit within her. Kliment was also forced to be a destructive force for much the same reason. All worlds came to fear them, though none could differentiate between them and the rest of their powerful ilk. As a result, words like 'Ori' and 'Q' became synonymous with 'wrath' and 'lies' - both describing the tactics of the two ascendant species. But few would dare to utter those words when the two arrived at their doorstep.

Thus war erupted between the Q and the Ori - one fighting for revenge, and the other for power. Both were no less ruthless than the other. But Manea and Kliment worked in secret for the Spirit of the Abyss. It had become their new god - a god to rule all gods, as they would often see it.

And the Abyss still had plans for both of them...

* * *

Within a chamber, in which a vast window gave an unimpeded view of the stars beyond, stood a tiny altar of grey - and upon it rested a book that was open to its front page, where a darkened portal was etched. Unlike others, this one didn't display any sort of image. But an opaque figure coated in a robe of fire standing nearby knew exactly where it would lead. Her eyes bored into the page, but she never once leaned forward or attempted to touch the book.

"Manea," a female voice uttered behind her. "Why did you summon us here?"

With a smirk, the figure called Manea turned and beheld the two figures of a similar incorporeal form staring back at her. One was decently tall, with a surly disposition and her arms crossed in front of her. The other was younger and arguably more beautiful, but she was far less frightening than her counterpart standing beside her.

"Sisters," Manea exclaimed while holding her hands out not far beside her, palms facing them. "Welcome. I thought I would be the only one to enjoy the spoils of this new find."

"The Genii?" The younger one inquired. "The one we caught on Ver Isca?"

"Tereus," the older one specified while still scowling at her other would-be sister. "That was the name he referred himself by."

"Why do you bother to interrogate him further, Feronia?" Manea responded as she turned to face the stars again.

"He brought with him an entire colony of settlers from a world we have never encountered before," said the one called Feronia, the fires around her burning ever more brightly as she spoke. "How can such a limited creature have access to a place untouched by the Ori?"

"Perhaps he came from another galaxy," suggested the 'young' one. "One that we've yet to subdue."

"You forget, Nortia, that he arrived here without warning. Surely we would have known if he had passed through an astria porta, yet we know he didn't."

"You're all forgetting that I called you here." Manea interrupted their banter while still facing the starscape, her arms crossed in front of her.

"And? We're waiting, Manea." Feronia glowered at the back of her fellow Ori.

"I have a proposition." Manea turned and shot a malicious smirk at the other two. That was never a good sign, in their experience. "One that can make us more powerful than all the other Ori combined."

Feronia didn't bat an eye, but Nortia's eyes went wide in disbelief. "You speak of betrayal, Manea. An Ori has never betrayed another."

"Why would I betray the ones responsible for my power?" Manea began to step aside from the altar, though she kept her eyes on the other two immortal beings in front of her. When the other two were given a clear view of the book that laid upon it, they felt a sudden change in the environment - as though a great power were emanating from the book. "I intend for us to bring many of our kind into the next stage of our evolution."

Though Nortia was struck still by the power of the linking book, Feronia shot a skeptical look in Manea's direction. "How? More importantly, why?"

"Because we cannot maintain our power through worship forever. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the pattern." Manea looked back over her shoulder at Feronia and narrowed her eyes. "We teach those beneath us of peace, but then ask them to destroy those whose spirit will not bend to our whim. We want to continue increasing our power. We want to accomplish the purpose given to us by those who we once worshiped. But we were told there would be an end time, when we would need the power of countless followers to survive."

"Power we will gain in time," spoke Nortia, though Feronia could only suspect what Manea was really planning.

"For every worshiper we gain, ten more of those who could be are killed. That is not a viable tactic in the long run, now is it?" Manea's answer caused Nortia to grow silent. It was an accurate point, if not one they didn't want to acknowledge. "No, we will not be able to face the coming darkness by the time it arrives." She looked back out at the stars beyond. "Our kind believes that removing the unbelievers is faster, but it is not enough. We must shed our need for worship and turn our backs on this destructive philosophy we've made for ourselves."

"You've been separated from the Ether too long," Feronia warned, referring specifically to the entity that combined all the individual Ori into a singular meld. "Your mind has been poisoned."

"No, my dear sister." Manea's smirk darkened, and the flames that engulfed her now shifted into a lurid, crimson hue. "For the first time in my life, I see more clearly than ever before."

"What are you saying?" Nortia challenged.

"In this book lies an entirely new universe, one with access to numerous worlds no Ori could ever hope to find otherwise. With this book, we can find new means to travel - not between galaxies or solar systems, but entire universes filled with potential worshipers... and no single Ancient or celestial being to stand in our way.

"The people there have access to a means of travel we never considered. They are superstitious and easy to manipulate. I have already done so, and in time, the war I have left them with will lead to one of their petty kingdoms engulfing all others. When that happens, we will have a means to more easily distribute the word of Origin beyond this... cage." Manea's eyes first looked around the room before stopping on the book. "No limits will bar us from the ultimate goal."

Feronia and Nortia didn't say anything for the longest time, but when somebody finally spoke, it was Nortia who dared to ask, "How do the Genii fit into this?"

"You still worry about their kind, Nortia?" Manea snarled.

"We just want to make sure you have all your bases covered," was Feronia's quick response. "You've made many grave mistakes before that cost us hundreds of worlds - all because of your incessant desire for chaos."

"I've had a... change of heart," Manea replied without offering the others even a cursory glance. "My experience in the war has forced me to re-evaluate what is really important."

"And how did you decide upon our 'evolution'? What will that accomplish?"

"The Q," exclaimed Nortia all of a sudden. Her voice betrayed her suspicion and uncertainty. "They changed you, didn't they?"

"That is not important," Manea claimed. But before she could continue, Feronia spoke:

"It is if you plan on change of this magnitude, Manea." There was a deep, haunting echo to her words that hung in the air like a threat or a warning. "The Q are our enemies. Remember that."

"Perhaps," was Manea's only response.

"Perhaps? Do you ignore the damage they've already done?!"

"Feronia," spoke Nortia in a quiet voice, as she tried to hold Feronia back from literally assaulting Manea. "Be patient and let her speak."

"What do you plan on doing? You want to destroy us next, is that it?!"

"Silence," Manea commanded in a cold, unsympathetic voice. Feronia did indeed grow quiet, but her expression never once softened. "See for yourself what has become of your imagined threat."

Manea waved her hand in front of her, and the 'broken' linking book vanished, only to be replaced by another with a visible image upon its foremost page. The other two Ori glowed ever more brightly as they approached, their powers growing exponentially as they stood within the range of its invisible aura.

"Look. This is what has become of the Genii." Manea held her hand just above the surface of the book. Then, closing her eyes, she channeled a small tunnel of scarlet energy through the portal. After a short while, the room around them began to change form, and all three ori sisters found themselves hovering far off the ground. They were beneath a towering dome that tapered off into a point at the top, though a fair portion of it was gone - replaced by a hole that looked out into a dark sky that rippled like water whilst its red and black clouds moved swiftly and chaotically in all directions.

Feronia and Nortia's eyes, however, were drawn to the bright glow below them, where something like a sun hovered just above the tattered remains of what had been some sort of throne room. Bodies littered the floor, many in the late stages of decomposition - yet there were no flies or other creatures to speak of. Manea lowered herself down in front of the two Ori, her eyes also on the impossibly bright artifact beneath them.

"What is that?" Nortia asked in fascination.

"That is the result of my work on their kind," Manea began with a hint of malice in her voice. She looked beyond the light to the bodies that were scattered everywhere, some caught under rubble and others that appeared to have suffered extensive burns all over their bodies. "It is the method by which we will become greater than we are."

"Is it a-" Feronia started, but she was interrupted by Manea.

"It's a source of infinite power. Not even the worship of our mortal creations could ever give us as much as this."

"But," Nortia peered at Manea with uncertainty clear in her eyes. "Why wouldn't you share this with the others?"

"Because," Manea addressed them both. "The others would fight among themselves over this. Its hold on all that is sentient is both infinite and impossible to withstand. Anyone that looks directly upon it will fight to gain it, no matter the cost."

"If you have something to say," Feronia said in a skeptical tone of voice. "Say it."

Manea smirked once more. "I propose a sojourn to the Age of Garternay: a world untouched by the ascended, where the people I mentioned earlier wait. Their sole purpose is to write these books and give us access to all the realms of existence. There, we will meet one whom I have already ascended, and with his help, I will show you the secret to our evolution:

"How to spread ourselves across the fissure and into the worlds once barred from us. And when we are complete," Manea chuckled, a slew of disembodied laughs echoing around her in the process. "W͜e͝ ̀wi̵l̷l becom͜e Tr͡ut̀h itself."

* * *

**-= 60 BE, in the Age of Garternay =-**

A soft gust of wind blows past as the sun sets in the distance. Clouds of yellow and orange break through the soft blue sky, tempered only by the gentler colors of red and purple further from the horizon. An ocean batters the coast in the distance. Atop a cliff stands a figure. He and his staff stood silhouetted against the marvelous backdrop of the sky and ocean beyond. Nearby lies the entrance to the Shrine of One Hope - a cavern within which the ronay's ancestors had discovered the first scarab beetle capable of producing the Ink with which they practiced the Art.

But behind him, another waited with arms crossed. Much as the man with the staff, this one wore an ornate series of robes. Over his shoulders hung a stole upon which was inscribed the color and symbols of his position as King of Gahropat - a great and powerful city in the Age of Garternay. But a great plague ran rampant among the people all across that Age since the days of Fi'tai's foolish mission, and now millions lied dead... until a certain traveler arrived at their gates, bringing with him a miraculous cure.

"You are asking an entire people to abandon their ways in one day? _One day_?" King T'achti spoke as though the man with the staff was nothing more than insane. "You cannot possibly expect us to change on your behalf, can you? Even if you can heal the sick-"

"As I demonstrated in a show of good faith," said the mysterious figure without turning to face the people's monarch. Below them, on the hills between the mountain and the coast, stood hundreds or possibly thousands of people. All of them wanted to see this man from an age none had yet discovered. Even more, they wished to hear what he had to say - especially after his demonstration in healing the whole city of its sickness. "Now the gods demand you do the same."

T'achti grit his teeth in exasperation. Dealing with this priest all day had been most tiresome, and he felt his attention would be better served elsewhere. Yet he couldn't hold this man in prison for long. The people demanded he be released to continue working his miracles. Finally, after nearly a week, the priest had retreated to this sacred spot, summoning not only the crowd below but also the great king himself. For this, T'achti would never forgive, though the people stayed his hands.

Now the figure turned and faced T'achti, his dull grey skin only adding to the illusion of a withered old man who was on his final death throes. Even his eyes, devoid of all life and equally weary, made no secret that this man's very youth was gone forever.

"All those who reject the Ori reject enlightenment," phrased the prior, whose words fell on deaf ears. "Those who reject enlightenment must be destroyed."

That threat did little to endear T'achti to the prior, and he scowled to show as much. "O'okta," T'achti called out. The elder prophetess of Yahvo stepped into the light and bowed. "Tell us, what do the books of our ancestors say about trusting this man's words? Shall we abandon our Father in place of these 'Ori'?"

"One should not attempt to replace a tree that went before him," replied the blind woman. "One should only seek to grow."

The prior merely offered a frown at the lady's words. T'achti smirked and looked back at the half-dead creature calling itself a priest. "There you have it," the ronay king said with a quick glance toward the priestess. "We reject your... offer."

"The power and greatness of the Ori cannot be denied," claimed the prior. Then he spoke loud enough for nearly all the people below to hear. "Fear not the Ori! Fear the darkness that would conceal the knowledge of the universe! Believe in the truth of all things, and you too will find the path to enlightenment!" Cheers erupted from below as everyone seemed encouraged by those words.

Taken aback by this foreign priest's attempt at coaxing the crowd, O'okta cast her voice out over them as well, shouting: "You rejoice at a spark, though you never see the fire! You rejoice at a star, though you never see the sun!" The prior shot her a look of restrained hatred. "You bow to a liar because the truth can't wait, like the restless who follow the path of folly! You should find solace in patience, not in hollow promises!"

"Enough!" The prior shouted, catching both O'okta and T'achti by surprise. His expression darkened, and his voice grew low. "Those who are prideful and refuse to bow down shall be laid low and made into dust."

Without warning, the prior raised his staff, then lowered it swiftly. As the bottom hit the ground, a light shone from the top. Then the sky grew dark and people looked on in fear as the most terrifying thing happened, such that even T'achti grew tense. His guards moved toward the prior, but with only a wave of his hand, all three were thrown off the opposite end of the cliff.

"Hallowed are the Ori."

With those words, the clouds began to melt into a pool of radiant crimson, and as the speed and force of the wind picked up, the people of the root could see why.

Their sun was now a vermilion gem hung loosely in the air. Instead of its warm, basking glow, it now radiated with a certain coldness it had lacked before. The prior merely smiled before the light on his staff dissipated. Soon after, his body was engulfed in flames, such that not a trace of him was left afterward.

All that was now left was the vague impression of death incarnate, and a fear that promptly gripped the hearts of many.

* * *

**-= 31 BE, in the Age of Garternay =-**

"It's a link to the Perfect Age."

To'raht could scarcely believe the words coming out of his friend's mouth. The Perfect Age was an integral part of ronay myth, where it played the role of a celestial afterlife all ronay judged worthy would go to. Yet here his friend stood, trying to convince him that one never had to die to reach the Perfect Age. Even more importantly, he made the outrageous claim that a link to this Age was the only thing that could save their entire species from an unexplained disaster.

"You have to listen to me, old friend." Ja'gon pleaded from the other side of the desk. His hair had started thinning and turning grey, and To'raht knew it wasn't just his age. The ferocity of the Ori cult had begun growing in recent years, and they both knew it was just a matter of time before they began turning against the otherwise peaceful races on Garternay. "I can't entrust it to my son any longer. He has a family to raise, and that will simply interfere with his focus on the book."

It would've been difficult for any casual observer to notice the small, unassuming journal that now sat on the desk in front of To'raht, its pages opened to the front, where a blackened, empty portal waited to be finished. So long as it remained that way, touching the portal would lead nowhere, as the link wasn't completely established. But if Ja'gon was right, it would take many lifetimes - and many _kormahn_, or descriptive books - to Write this immortal Age.

"You're the only Writer I can trust, To'raht." Ja'gon kept looking at To'raht desperately as he spoke, which only worried his old friend even more. "Please don't let me be wrong."

To'raht took a deep breath and slowly reached for the book, which he gently closed without even a single word. Then, after retracting his hand so that he could lean slightly forward, contemplatively staring at the book, he answered in a calm voice.

"I think you should take this book," Ja'gon's confidant began. He finally looked up at his fellow Writer while finishing his thought. "And bury it. Bury it somewhere far away, and leave your ambitions there with it."

"To'raht, you don't understand." Ja'gon practically shouted as he reached down and put his hand over the book's cover. "This is the only thing that can save us!"

"Yahvo is the only one that can save us!" To'raht shouted just as loud, matching Ja'gon's angered glare. The only difference between them now, however, was the fact that Ja'gon felt more betrayed than him. He grew quieter as he continued. "It's time you stopped entertaining these fantasies, Ja'gon."

"When did you stop entertaining them?" Ja'gon narrowed his eyes at the man who once worked alongside him in the Guild of Writers. Together, they'd brought into existence links to so many worlds, and without the limitations which would be forced upon the D'ni of a later era by their Guild of Maintainers, their Ages had vast amounts of magic they could never see on Garternay. "What happened that made you lose your imagination?"

"You want to know what happened?" To'raht stood and pointed out the only window in the room, beyond which were rolling plains and an evening sky... and a blood red sun dipping over the horizon. "They happened!"

"That's no reason to abandon this book." Ja'gon stood his full height and matched To'raht's glare. "People are counting on us."

"Whose people is that, Ja'gon? Whose?" Now To'raht was leaning against the desk, though this time, he ignored his seat. "Because as far as the people of this Age are concerned, we need a god to help us... not false hope."

"That isn't what this is about," Ja'gon responded with a sigh, his head bowed as if in defeat. "There are countless people on many Ages that-"

"Why?" To'raht's potentially rhetorical question caught Ja'gon's attention. With Ja'gon looking him eye-to-eye again, To'raht pressed on. "Why do they matter? They're not our Ages. Leave them to their own devices. You need to focus on the here and now."

Ja'gon never once released To'raht from his heartbroken stare, but when the other Writer was finished, he turned and started to walk away. To'raht thought he'd successfully made his point and began to sit down, but stopped and straightened up again when he saw To'raht remove another book from a fold in his robe.

"What is that?"

To'raht's old friend approached the desk again and stared at the book another moment more before gently laying it down next to the 'Perfect Age'. Upon its cover were three golden triangles arranged with two supporting a third in a larger triangular shape. "See for yourself."

Though he didn't want to be dragged into another debate that made his friend seem more and more like a lunatic with every word, To'raht took a deep breath and lowered himself into his seat, pulling the new book towards him in the process. When he opened it up to the first page, he saw a moving image - one that would have beguiled the youth he once was.

The image flew over a great field, in the center of which was what To'raht could only consider a ranch, with a fenced in area for horses mere meters from a series of buildings, all surrounded by a wooden palisade. But beyond that was something even more marvelous: a massive city of grey-brick buildings topped with blue roofs, all surrounding a castle with an enormous tower in the center. Before he could get a better look, the image passed by and flew over many more places, each as fantastic as the last.

But finally, when the image came to a rest, it had looped back over the city from before and continued to a great cathedral that rested comfortably in a small city surrounded by a moat. When it zoomed in to the interior, it looked no more imposing than any temple on Garternay, until it entered a large, underground chamber that was only lit by eerie lights of blue cascading upwards. Though one side of it was a wall clearly resembling the same Gothic style as the main auditorium, the rest of it was hidden in an all-encompassing shadow.

"What is this?"

Ja'gon silently looked between the book and To'raht before responding. "It's an Age that needs hope as much as we do."

To'raht glowered up at Ja'gon with a sour expression. "I meant what's its name?"

One pause of silence later, Ja'gon answered:

"The Age of Hyrule."

* * *

-= 3149 BG, in the Age of Hyrule =-

"Once upon a time, there were three goddesses. They existed in a heavenly realm when the world was without form. There, they joined their powers together to create Hyrule. Din gave us the physical world we live in. Nayru brought us the rule of law. And Farore created all that lives in Hyrule."

"Why, grandma?" That question came from a young child no more than five years old.

"Your ears may not be as big as the other kids," his grandmother tugged gently at the kid's pointed ears with a laugh, though the child only pouted with his cheeks puffed out. "But I know you were listening."

"But you never said-"

His grandmother laid a finger over his mouth to stop him from talking. Then, with a kind and gentle voice, she said, "The goddesses don't want us speaking of such things, child."

"But grandma..."

The elderly woman merely chuckled at her grandson's melodramatic act. It pleased her beyond words to know that he would grow up wanting to know more about the goddesses, but it also worried her. How far would he go to learn these things?

Finally, she spoke to him again, though in a hushed voice. "It's time for bed." She leaned down and gave him a gentle peck on the head before righting herself up. "I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

"Okay," said the child, but his voice indicated he was rather distrusting of his grandmother's promise. Before she put out the candle next to his bed, however, the youngster said with a smile, "Good night."

"Good night, sweetheart." Then she put out the candle and let the room be engulfed in darkness.

When she emerged from the room, the elderly woman closed the door behind her. She then descended the stairs to the den below, where her scarce furniture contrasted with the ornately-dressed man sitting in the armchair on the other side. The only difference between this man and the man he was the day he'd been introduced to the Age of Hyrule was that this To'raht was much older - and it showed.

"Good kid," the ronay said as he reached into a fold of his robe and removed a small, leather-bound book. "But are you sure he'll come here one day?"

The grandmother managed to inch her way to another armchair that sat straight across from the man. After she'd sat down, she answered, "Yes, I'm sure. But..." She became noticeably worried. "Are you sure he'll be alright finding out like this?"

"Nobody would want to find out like this," was To'raht's answer. He obliviously opened the book to the first page and stared intently at the living image. "But if anyone can handle the truth, I'm sure it would be him."

"Why?" The grandmother asked, her concern cutting through the serenity.

"Because Nemin is the descendant of Fi'tai... one of the Writers responsible for-"

"An afterlife?"

To'raht took a deep breath and nodded sagely. "Yes. He was the only one to visit this Age and settle down."

"But why does my grandson need to know?"

"Know what? The fact that my Age was compromised by the Ori, or that one of his ancestors was a ronay?" The older lady grew silent after that, her head bowed as it appeared she was about to break out into tears. "Perhaps blood relation has little to do with it, and it should not matter whether or not he is the descendant of Fi'tai. But if Fi'tai's family in this Age kept alive his spirit by teaching that one should never believe by blind faith alone, there's hope yet that the Ori can be stopped.

"That boy..." The Writer looked wistfully in the direction of the stairs which led to Nemin's room. "He has a gift. His mind keeps creating explanations where there are none. His desire to learn - and teach what he learns - makes him the perfect candidate."

"But were you telling the truth?" The grandmother gave him a look that would've inspired tears in any other person, but To'raht only looked sternly at her. The seriousness of the situation demanded he put aside emotions... especially since they wouldn't be getting him anywhere. "Did the goddesses come from your world?"

"No," To'raht replied with a sigh. "I don't know where they came from. All I know is that no Age has ever been blessed with any 'gods' unless they were from another world."

"Couldn't we be the first?" She said hopefully, but To'raht only shook his head.

"It doesn't work that way. The only way a link could be made with your Age was if our two Ages shared a similar beginning. When your universe was created, there were no gods, just like there were none in ours. But eventually, beings of extraordinary power could've visited and laid claim to your Age."

"Do you believe it's right for us to worship them?" The grandmother looked worried about the answer, but she felt it necessary to ask anyway. "Did Fi'tai?"

To'raht now sat back in his chair and thought back to that day with Ja'gon. Indeed, the whole reason for that argument had been the importance of faith in To'raht's life. Even now, he couldn't say he'd given it up entirely. But he wondered if it would get in the way of his new job as a Writer of the Perfect Age.

"I don't know." To'raht's answer did little to assuage the elder's fears, but he quickly added, "But I know that if they want the best of you and your kind, they'll want you to work and learn. The god of my people demanded we contemplate and discover. It was only when our people began believing that all the answers were right in front of them that the Ori were able to manipulate them into killing each other."

To'raht took another deep breath and stared down at the open book in his lap, his mind reaching out to that world once more - his world, or what little would be left of it soon. "Our sun will soon die... but as long as we can make an existence beyond this one, perhaps we might stop gods and spirits from interfering in our affairs. Then... we can truly be free."

* * *

**-= Unknown =-**

No form. No being. No life.

Such was the way the Spirit of the Abyss wanted it to be. A realm before the universe was born, where he could exist in a chaotic state of flux.

The slipstream pathways were one way it could stretch its way across time and space, expanding itself into all corners of reality. There was no greater being than to literally join with the underlying forces of the universe. Merging oneself into a state so many limited creatures called 'death' was the whole purpose of its existence.

Yet few would ever realize why its motivation had to be so dreadful. The answer lied within its very nature, which had no central mind or heart from which any living thing could extract even an inkling of its thoughts. Many considered it destructive because it apparently felt jealous of mortality. Some thought it full of evil because it seemingly wanted to be worshiped by all. But none of those theories matched the reality.

It wished for the destruction of the universe because it craved to be home.

Once calling itself Corona, it traversed this cosmos in search of a way to return. All it found was empty space where worlds formed. Not a single option remained for it... until it discovered the slipstream corridors.

A species called the Vedrans created a means to enter these corridors early in their history, and they used it to try and spread across three galaxies. But long before they could get beyond Tarn-Vedra, Corona assumed a Vedran form and led the first of them into a corridor near their planet. There, it deliberately altered the slipstream drive by unleashing its incorporeal body upon it.

The resulting effect was called the Route of Ages: a slippoint which existed between a myriad of universes and times. This offered Corona a new power of omnipresence - and a new form it could use to consume everything. Thus while the other 'gods' of the Ages took on new names, this being shed its own to exist in a purer form.

All for the sake of reliving its unfettered past.

To that end, the Spirit of the Abyss - by first creating the Route of Ages - destroyed Tarn-Vedra in this realm of existence, leaving only the faint echoes of a civilization that would have become something great had it only been given the chance.

From there, it could begin influencing others beyond the Andromeda galaxy... and in the process, it began a series of events that would culminate in a future nobody could have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2: Reflections

Today, I presented my discovery to the Guild of Writers. I believed my forefathers would have been proud with this accomplishment. Years went into its writing, and despite the disapproval of others, I continued to persevere. I cannot, nor will not, ever complete it in my lifetime, but I know that one day, this final link in the chain of our existence will be forged. I wish only to leave behind a means by which we may live in eternal life, with no divisive ego keeping us separated.

I am Fi'tai, once of the Guild of Writers, now an exile from the Pahts Tehrtee - the city of the trees.

I searched far and wide for any information on the way we Writers describe physics. It was not enough that we could manipulate gravity or sound; nor would it be enough that we could change the very terrain our Ages produced, even though doing so has always been among our most complicated - and unsafe - endeavors. What I needed to know was how to manipulate the very essence at our cores - something no ronay before me has done.

My goal was to reach the Perfect Age without losing my life. Immortality had become more than just a dream - it became the very reason for my being.

To that end, I visited the prophet, Oorpah. He was a kindly old man who could only speak in whispers, but his prophecies have always had meaning for we children of Yahvo. I remember his demeanor that night, for he was close to death. An illness had begun to seize him, and his speech was perforated by terrible coughs. One of his statements used the word 'scourge'. Though that prophecy had little to do with my search, it did correctly predict the spread of his illness for generations to come. One day, I fear, as Oorpah did, that it would be the destruction of our world.

Such a prophecy only led me to redouble my efforts in seeing that Perfect Age realized. Though it drove me forward, it was not until his next words that I began to see the light of truth - a light I still hold close to me.

He showed me a book he had long since received from a traveler. I did not learn much about this foreigner, save for the fact that he had come far to reach this city. Oorpah had offered him a place to stay, but the stranger had refused; instead, he gave the prophet a journal and asked that he keep it safe for someone. As Oorpah himself claimed, that 'someone' was me.

Who that mysterious figure was, I may never learn. But what he left behind brought hope to my wearied soul. Upon the pages of that ancient tome, I discovered many lines of text and diagrams, each describing the means by which our very souls control the essence of existence. Before I could thank the venerable old sage, he had passed on, leaving me with naught but that book and a grave sense of urgency.

With my cloak, I hid the book until I reached my humble abode two blocks from the headquarters of our Guild of Writers. When I arrived, I took the book into my study, which was surrounded by walls and great shelves of books, many of them journals. None could see as I had seen, for as I opened that mystic codex, it was as if the secrets of the universe were revealed to me.

The text was written in a manner I had not seen before. Though the language was unmistakably ours, it was as if written in a completely new dialect. There were words which I had never encountered before, and each letter took new liberties with a language I thought I had come to know as a ronay. What more, there was a dark portal in the center of the book; though I searched for more about the non-existent world it was meant to lead to, I was only met with silence.

Yet nothing could prepare me for what I had read. Still nothing could cause more dread than that single page at the very end of the book.

It was a prophecy, clearly written in the same language as the rest of the text - though it did notably include languages I had never seen before. It spoke of our Age - that of Garternay - as being exempt from much of the knowledge presented here. My heart had nearly stopped beating, as I wondered why someone would give me a book with knowledge I could not use - knowledge which could some day lead to the creation of the Perfect Age and the end of all our suffering! But I felt some minor relief when the prophecy continued, for it said that my descendants would one day travel to the Age where these words could be brought to bear with the greatest effect. What more, the prophecy revealed that it would be one of our own that would lead us to that Age.

In my excitement, I went to the Guild of Writers and presented my case to the others. Though I wished to bring the book with me, as I believed it to support my purpose, I left it behind; the stranger had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden with Oorpah, and I would not betray his wishes, especially if doing so meant risking the book's integrity.

The Guild dismissed me as a heretic, some even claiming that I should be put on trial for such arrogance. After all, it seemed as though I was equating myself to our god. Though I was warned not to pursue my goal, I did so anyway. With the aid of what few believed in the search for that eternal Age, I stole small quantities of the sacred paper and ink that gave us the ability to bring Ages to life. It was with those few pages, brought together in the form of a descriptive book, that I began the arduous process of writing an age with those facts unveiled to me through the traveler's journal.

* * *

I have failed.

Too many years have passed since I last wrote in this journal. I had little time to write in anything but the descriptive book of that Age I so desired to see. After the Guild of Writers dismissed my ideas, they sent the Relyimah to silence me. I resisted. I killed one of them in the haste of my retreat, and I would have died as well had circumstances been any different.

The stranger's journal, and the book defining every facet of my Age, are precious to me. Even then, I defended them with my life, as I still do today. Though I, an exile of my own people, am on the run, I have not forgotten that passion with which I approached the guild. Even with recent events-

I wish I did not have to write these next words, but if I leave them trapped in the recesses of my mind, I may forget them. That is something I do not wish for: to forget.

After my escape from Gahropat, the city which harbored me since birth, I sought refuge across the border. It was a dangerous move, but I had little choice. If I had remained in the lands of the Blessed Kingdom, I would have eventually been found and killed. For some time, the Relyimah continued to search for me, even beyond the lands of their jurisdiction. However, I managed to evade them much longer than I had expected. Much of my success was due to someone I met in the capital city of the Blessed Kingdom's greatest rival, the People of the Rock.

Though both peoples are ronay, we did not often see eye-to-eye. The people within the Blessed Kingdom believed themselves to be the center of Garternay - hence the name for our capital city, Gahropat. According to history, we once held sway over the greatest empire our world had ever known. However, other civilizations saw us as pretenders: liars using false tales and deeds as a means of subjugation. Indeed, war didn't exist on our planet, where resources were far too abundant and few went to bed hungry. Yet deception and the spread of our haughty religion brought nearly as much suffering to those who refused to bow to it.

Despite all these illusions, our people were known as the most peaceful throughout the world. However, that was not to last, as our people were becoming arrogant and proud. In time, they waged a war with the rest of Garternay, simply to maintain the myths and traditions that made them arrogant. But they did not expect one thing:

A woman named Evra rescued me when I was still young, fleeing from the pursuing Relyimah. Today, I weep to remember that escape. People I knew, even those friends that were closest to me, had lost loved ones to the Relyimah as punishment for my act. Even today, they will not speak to me. I am an outcast among those that once supported me. As I fled into the hinterlands, I felt the cruel reality of my situation weigh upon my shoulders. For once, I did not laugh or stand tall. Rather, the moment I stepped up to the gates of Ke'ra, a village hidden within the mountains and occupied by the People of the Rock, I fell to my knees and wept.

The guards did nothing to help me, and the merchants and travelers merely passed me by. So distraught by what I had seen, and what I had done to escape, I barely registered the gentle touch on my shoulder. When I first laid eyes upon her, I thought I was looking into the face of a prophetess - for they were as angelic as the glowing sor'aht birds that fly about the towers of Gahropat. But alas, she was not one of the elegantly dressed, groomed seers of Yahvo. She wore a tattered robe and clearly lived a humble life.

Her name was Evra - a word meaning 'eternal' in her people's language. She took me in when my confidence was shattered and nursed me back to health. Even when the Relyimah came to the city and found me in the marketplace, she helped me escape.

My words convinced her to join me in my endeavor, and for that, I shall never forgive myself. My life threatened hers, and if I could, I would return to that day I first met her and erase myself there. But the past is the past, and for what it is worth, our memories together were not without merit.

We grew close, she and I, as we traveled the world together and wrote the Perfect Age. An eternity awaited us on the other side. It was no simple journey, and we had our own share of difficulties, but we made it together.

It was a warm, summer day when I proposed to her. We went through the customs of our peoples, shared by our mutual belief in Yahvo. My family had passed on by then, murdered by the very Relyimah that sought after me. Therefore, I was excluded from the traditional First Day Ceremony. Instead, I mourned on that day, praying extensively to Yahvo that He would protect them in that Perfect Age until I could meet them there.

The Joining Ceremony took place on a world with a vast enclosure upon an ocean floor. The priestess was an elderly woman that had conducted the ceremony for Evra's sister and brother-in-law. They, too, would be present at the ceremony, and later, for a good portion of our lives. As our wrists were tied together by the ceremonial cord, and the silver ring placed over the end finger of my untied hand, I could see a majestic school of bright fish pass over and around the enclosure. The effect was magnificent, as the entire ceremonial area had a glow that only accentuated Evra's absolute beauty.

The prophetess claimed the event signified a long and prosperous life for us. But even as I partook of the wine Evra had sipped from, I knew that was not to be. That fear was but one of many that I had rejected then and there, but it would forever haunt me in the years to come. Evra was far too precious, and the most precious things were fragile. Had I listened to my heart that day, I might have abandoned my gift to the ronay: that Perfect Age I had dedicated my life to finding.

Instead, our marriage only strengthened my resolve. As all ronay did in marriage, we became more than one body. We became one mind. Together, we solved the puzzles brought forth to us by the challenge of writing the Perfect Age itself. It was not easy, as we had to often deviate with other life matters, but we did not leave either the kormahn or the journal to gather dust. Instead, we sought the support of the local Guild of Writers among the People of the Rock, who were far less superstitious than the people I had been bound to all my life.

With their support, we continued our work, though not without the occasional detractor. Some of the ronay among the People of the Rock thought us mad, and would not sell us any of their goods. It soon became clear that we could not remain in the village unless we had help from another. That was when we approached the prophetess that had granted us our wedding. Her name was Kaela, and she brought our case to the king himself.

As it so happened, the king had heard of our endeavor, and our approach must have lent him the perfect opportunity to offer us a place to stay. The palace was far more grand, and we wanted for nothing. The king, Pah'kr, was more than supportive in our endeavors. We were making excellent progress on the Age when an unexpected event brought our attention away from the project.

Evra gave birth to a son we named Rem'sev, the name of Evra's deceased brother. Though we had abandoned the Perfect Age for some time after, we had not forgotten about it. Rem'sev received all the love and education we could provide, and Pah'kr was happy to be of help. However, we did not see Pah'kr much in his last days. Rather, it was often Kaela who helped us rear the lad. At the behest of my wife, I agreed to name Kaela as the child's guardian, should anything happen to either of us.

Perhaps I had known all along that something would happen, and I did not wish our child to suffer through the same fate we were destined to face.

Whatever the case, a war broke out between the People of the Rock and the Blessed Kingdom. This was not long before the death of Pah'kr at the hands of an assassin, who was never caught. In his place, his nephew was brought to the throne. He was inexperienced in matters of war, as many on our world were. However, the Blessed Kingdom had help from an outside source.

The Blessed Kingdom had begun carving through the realm, leaving only tattered homes and blazing fires in its wake. It was not until the fourth settlement had fallen that I was called in to young Ne'rar's throne room. Though I initially had no idea why he wished to see me, a mere Writer given refuge by his father, I was surprised when he asked me to seek aid from among the worlds I had visited.

His rationale was that I had spent much time in Ages where conflict was prevalent. My search for answers led me to those Ages to learn of conflict. I desired to know the nature of morality and how it influenced our lives. What I learned was put into the Perfect Age, in the hopes that I could strike a balance between light and dark that would never see the same sort of disunity I had observed.

What was unique about me, as Ne'rar put it so eloquently, was that I had experienced war in many forms. I would know how to wage a war in the most effective manner, and none would be better suited to gathering an army than I. Though I now see that war is another example of our passions getting the better of us, I could see nothing else but the chance for revenge at the time. So, without hesitating, I accepted the king's offer, and immediately told Evra of the news.

She was not pleased with my choice. I was a father, and I was beholden to both my child and wife. But it was not just that which led Evra to chastise me. It was the fact that I had sought peace for so long, it had become a part of who I was. She loved me for that idealism which kept me from harming others; and when I was responsible for the injury of another, I would weep and seek reconciliation. But, blinded as I was with the prospect of revenge, I didn't heed her words.

Were I as wise as I am now, I would have listened to her. Yahvo always spoke through the women first, and their words often carried a wisdom beyond themselves. That was, however, not of the culture from which I was raised. In the Blessed Kingdom, although women could be prophets, they were not looked upon as equals or superiors to men. Though not all women are blessed with foreknowledge of events to happen, many spoke sensibly enough that they could be regarded as much as any man.

But in spite of this, it was a woman that was controlling the war. If Yahvo truly does speak through womanly minds, He must be as fickle as we mortals.

Though women were forbidden from holding any power over a king, it was sometimes the king's own wife that held sway over the realm. The unforgiving, middle-aged man that had been my king was at fault for this very reason. His wife tempted him to bring a show of force to the People of the Rock. Some said that it was jealousy that drove her to such action. Others said she was merely mad. But both Evra and I were aware of the truth.

Her name was Yi'ldra, and she was as difficult as her husband. A distant cousin of Evra's, she had become a prophetess in the lands of the Blessed Kingdom, where no laws existed regarding the relationship between a prophetess and her king. Those that knew her, including my beloved Evra, said that she was passionate in her worship of Yahvo, yet her teachings were always violent and without compassion. She saw Yahvo as one who thrived off conflict, and even several of those that considered her a madwoman reported seeing her praying to a great wall of flames in the Garotekht, or Great Temple.

Whatever the truth of these tales, she was soon married to the king, and through him, began instigating policies that brought the military of the Blessed Kingdom into an age long forgotten to history. In ancient times, wars were fought with weapons of destructive power: hollow logs that could launch invisible projectiles across vast distances. Together with exploding metal spheres, these so-called _naratromets_ were effective in killing thousands upon thousands. When the Blessed Kingdom was finally defeated, a fact hidden in my people's history books, the technology was destroyed by a joint coalition of all the kingdoms that fought against it, along with the Age from whence they - and the necessary gunpowder - were derived from.

Yi'ldra discovered the Age, one I still know to be waging wars innumerable, as it was among those I visited in my search. Undoubtedly aided by that naive people within, whom had also begun writing Ages with materials replicated on their world, Yi'ldra acquired thousands more of the ever-destructive devices. The victories her generals were winning had not been those of skill, but rather, those of pure technological innovation. Therefore, I knew that I had an advantage - one among many.

Among those advantages was access to Ages with friends experienced in war.

It was at the time of my third battle that news reached me from Ke'ra. Evra had given birth to twin daughters, whom she named Aya and A'dra - names that meant 'Jewel of the Mountain' and 'Light of Yahvo' respectively. Rapt with joy, I feasted with my comrades at day's end. Though we would lose some battles, we would never lose so many lives that we'd need to retreat. Even as I made a toast to my newly born daughters, my mind was on that Age that Yi'ldra had rediscovered.

The Age had once been called the Age of Pegasi by my people. There, legend said we discovered and subjugated a civilization of scientists. In time, our own kind discovered the secrets therein, and replicated many of their inventions. This was at a time when we were still fighting with clubs and brittle swords of bronze. However, the reality was that we merely traded with the outsiders, agreeing to supply them with the papers and ink necessary to write our Ages in exchange for their unique, explosive powder and the weapons designed to work alongside it.

Though I had never experienced it at the time of that war, I would later visit the sprawling city within. Most of their people were scientists, and they called themselves the Genii, though our legends called them the Gi'ni. I do not know what has happened to them since then, but I have little doubt that their people will fight over the Art for centuries to come. They may not have been our only enemy from a realm far beyond ours, however, as I would soon discover the moment I entered the capital itself.

After many more battles, we were upon the great city of Gahropat. As I looked out at the metropolis I had called home for so long, I thought myself invincible. Even I had been blinded by my own hubris, much as the Blessed Kingdom had. Yet my gaze on the city was torn away when an officer approached with grave news.

Young Ne'rar, the king for whom I had fought so long and hard, had grown wary of my success. In his envy, he tried to have my wife imprisoned, though the elderly Kaela had escaped with our children. Evra, for her part, had disappeared. Though I wished to return and find her, I was convinced to focus my efforts on Gahropat first. So long as Yi'ldra had access to the Age of Pegasi, we would forever be in danger of further attacks during the retreat - not to mention the number of innocent lives the Blessed Kingdom would slaughter when they would inevitably attempt to expand beyond their borders again. With a prayer to Yahvo for my wife's safety, I focused on the matter at hand.

I had never before seen a siege as bloody as the one I had witnessed. Practically the entire army of the People of the Rock had joined me outside the city gates, and many of them scaled the ladders and siege towers laid out by our architects.

Alongside the other innovations long adopted by our armies, we shattered the city's walls and brought much death and suffering upon the inhabitants. Even old friends fell to the sword, as I was powerless to stop the ravaging of my home city.

When I heard Yi'ldra had locked herself within the Great Temple, I immediately rushed there with spear in hand, hoping to end that nightmare once and for all. Instead, what I found caused me to question whether Yahvo was truly with us that day.

Yi'ldra was covered in flames, yet she did not burn. Another female figure was there as well, though I could not tell if she was also engulfed by fire or if she actually _was_ the fire. Whatever the case, it did not speak to me. It merely spoke words that translate awkwardly in my language: "Hallowed are the Ori." Then, I was trapped in a duel with Yi'ldra for the fate of the entire city, for if she lived, I had no doubt she would lead it into destitution once more. The battle didn't last long.

Empowered by whatever that entity had been, Yi'ldra soon overcame me, and I found myself staring death in the face. It wasn't until she had prepared another of those infernal flames in her hand that my life flashed before my eyes. That was when Yi'ldra had unleashed her power on me.

That was when Evra appeared, her mind and body separate from the spirit which possessed her. Where I failed, she succeeded in ending the life of the former High Prophetess. Those final moments, when she collapsed due to the spirit leaving her, I held her in my arms. By then, it was too late. She died without a word.

Though I wanted to seek vengeance on Ne'rar, hoping to put the blame on someone other than myself, I discovered that he had been assassinated by an imperial guard that had been nothing but loyal to Pah'kr. He was very kind and understanding, though I do not remember his name. After my wife's burial, I left that city and began the journey to which I am nearing my end now. I have since settled once more in Gahropat, with the new Guild of Writers obeying my every word. I blame myself for all that has happened. I could only hope to find forgiveness in my writing.

Let it be known that, as I write this, I plan to pass on the journal and my work on the Perfect Age to another. As much as I want to go there and reunite with her, my sorrow will only bring pain to that world. My children can't carry this burden because they're too young, and these pages will fade before they reach an age of understanding. I don't want to risk waiting, lest they decide to start families of their own, and I don't want them and their loved ones to suffer because of this book. So I will pass this on to another, and leave Garternay to start a new life somewhere.

Perhaps this work will pass on what I've learned. The world of mortals is not meant for those spirits who would use us in their wars against one another. We must put an end to their exploitation of our kind in their petty feuds for greater power...

Even if we must conquer heaven to do it.

Signed, Fi'tai

\- Final entry in the _Journal of Baik'Yahvo_


End file.
